


Favorite Worst Nightmare

by cq2



Series: Stripper AU [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Drinking, Drug Use, M/M, Stripper AU, Stripping, Threesome - M/M/M, coercion sort of, practically pwp to be honest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:27:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27070453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cq2/pseuds/cq2
Summary: Enjolras isn't sure if this is a good idea anymore, but that's not going to stop him.
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire/Montparnasse
Series: Stripper AU [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1975720
Comments: 4
Kudos: 7





	Favorite Worst Nightmare

**Author's Note:**

> This can be read as a standalone piece or as part of the series. 
> 
> I was given the prompt "Do you ever think we should stop doing this?"
> 
> Title from _D is for Dangerous_ by Arctic Monkeys.

He’s on the floor, giving a lap dance. The music is too loud. It’s everything, it’s all encompassing. He doesn’t know where the beat ends and his body begins. But he does know that he’s dancing, he’s naked, and he’s doing a damn good job. He’s knows this because there’s over 2k tucked into his garter. Sometimes he _loves_ his job. 

He’s onstage and the lights are in his eyes. He wonders if he should have a headache. Maybe he does have one, and he can’t feel it yet. He swings lazily around the poll, but it’s too bright. He can’t scan the crowd for his next victim. Client, as Combeferre would remind him. Right. The sad soul paying Enjolras’ tuition for a glimpse of a gorgeous boy, a flashy stage, a little skin. 

He’s in a stranger’s lap in the VIP Lounge. Now the music is too quiet but the bass feels nice reverberating through his ribcage. The hands on his ass feel even better. The nameless man underneath him calls him Blondie. He doesn’t stop him from reaching up towards his face, tucking a stray lock behind his ear. He doesn’t stop him from pulling his hair. He doesn’t stop the moan on his lips. 

He’s at the bar and club is quiet. He’s not sure how he got here, with only empty stools next to him. He doesn’t know how long it’s been since he sat down. It doesn’t bother him that he doesn’t know these things, but it occurs to him that maybe it should. The only thing he knows is his cash had been stowed safely in his locker, and he figures that’s good enough for now. 

“You know the shift is over?” Mont asks, and he turns his head lazily. The pretty face that’s appeared next to him annoys him, but he doesn’t remember what he’s done this time to deserve it. 

“Yes,” he replies carefully, annunciating the word. Mont stares at him- asking if he’s ready to go without asking if he’s ready to go. 

He’s nodding. Right. He remembers. They had plans tonight. With the bouncer. Grantaire. That’s how he got here. That’s why he’s naked on a barstool nearing 5am running on tequila and cocaine. 

“Yes,” he says again, thinking that’ll clarify the situation. He slides down from the stool, tipping Chetta on his way past the booth and into the locker room. None of the dancers are left. He stumbles into the previous day’s clothes. 

He’s slow to tie his boot laces. Mont is at his shoulder, looking impatient.

“If you can’t handle this,” Mont starts, his voice close to a whisper, “you should’ve told me.”

“I’m fine.” He stands. He takes his bag, locks his locker.

He’s walking outside. Mont slings an arm around his waist. It might look casual, but it’s forceful. He’s leading him towards Grantaire’s car. He’s vaguely aware that there are birds chirping. 

He’s in the bouncer’s car. He’s in the backseat, and Mont is on top of him. His lips are practically forced open, until he becomes pliable under the dark-haired boy. Mont tastes of vodka and something cloyingly sweet. Enjolras catches Grantaire’s eye in the rear view mirror before he’s pulled into another heavy kiss. Mont is moaning. He thinks Grantaire might be too. Or maybe he’s imagining that. 

He’s pressed against a door. He doesn’t remember the car stopping, but it must have. He’s on his feet, the door pressing into his back. He doesn’t know if he’s inside or outside. There’s a hand palming his dick through his jeans, and a mouth on his. He’s hard. He doesn’t remember getting hard. Maybe it happened in the car. 

He’s inside. He’s sure of it this time because he’s sitting on the edge of a bed. He’s lost his backpack and he doesn’t care as much as he knows he should. He fidgets with his top button while Mont stands at the dresser. He can see him dividing the lines with a credit card. Grantaire isn’t there. He doesn’t remember him leaving. 

He’s standing at the dresser. Grantaire appears from inside the bathroom. The room is spinning and he knows the last thing he needs another hit but he also knows that it’ll make everything that comes after so much better. Everything will feel better and nothing will feel wrong, nothing will feel like he shouldn’t be here. 

He’s looking at Mont. Mont is looking at him. Grantaire has a hand in his hair, and it’s gentle. He doesn’t always expect that, but he knows that maybe he should by now. The sweetness of it makes him frown. 

“Do you ever think we should stop doing this?” He’s asking before he can think about it. 

“You can if you want to,” Grantaire is the first to respond. His voice isn’t nearly as kind as the hand in his hair, but Grantaire probably knew it’s what he wanted to hear. 

“But do you really want to?” Mont is asking, and his hands snake around his waist. He can’t answer because his mouth is suddenly occupied. He kisses Mont back. He doesn’t know why. There are other hands on him, hands undoing buttons and pressing kisses to his shoulder. Soon they leave bite marks, too. He doesn’t stop them. 

He’s shirtless and there aren’t any hands on him. He’s still standing in front of the dresser, and Mont does a line. Grantaire does the next. They stare at him. He does the third. 

He’s naked on the bed and his lips are around a cock. He’s opening his throat and letting his hair get pulled. He moans. There’s a different hand on his hip, holding him steady. Fingers that are fucking into him. He feels full. 

He’s being fucked. He doesn’t know who’s fucking him, and he doesn’t care. He’s dizzy, but it’s good. He closes his eyes to make the room stop spinning. Someone comes inside of him. 

He’s lying on his side. There are arms around him. He knows he must’ve come, at least once, but he doesn’t remember. But he isn’t hard. He’s sticky, but he isn’t sure who’s come it is. Mont is facing him, eyes closed, one hand on his chest. He turns his head. Grantaire is asleep, his arm slung across his waist. 

He knows he isn’t going to stop. It doesn’t matter if he wants to or not. He’s not sure what he wants. But he’s going to keep doing it. Because it’s so much harder to stop now that he’s started. 

He closes his eyes. He wakes up, he’s alone.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading this little addition to the series! I have a longer one in the works as well (and even more ideas brewing), so please feel free to follow if you're interested in more of this AU. Extra thanks to all who have read/left kudos/commented on the series!


End file.
